To celebrate the birthday this month of one of the most fascinating and breathtaking figures in the history of ballet dancing, I've thought it relevant to dedicate this month's blog to Erik Bruhn, born October 3rd, 86 years ago. There's in my opinion several reasons to be captivated with Erik Bruhn. First of all his name barely even comes up when international stars of ballet and great figures in the history of the art form are mentioned. There's a specific reason for that, and we'll get into it in this blog. And secondly, his own renown was somewhat drowned by a rivalry with his much more famous partner, Rudolf Nureyev. And yet in his time Erik Bruhn was a worldwide star before Nureyev even became known outside of his native Russia. There is a reason for that as well. In this blog I mean to tackle all of these various factors, while presenting of Bruhn a portrait worthy of the mesmerizing figure he truly was in the world of male ballet dancing.
First of all it must be taken into account that Erik Bruhn was Danish. In the ballet world, this means that he was tied to the Bournonville school, which is the official school of ballet in Denmark. Now before we delve deeper into Bruhn's childhood, let's examine what the Bournonville school was and what were its particularities in comparison with other schools.
Every country which has a solid history of ballet and an authority in the field has a school. France claims the Paris Opera school, England the Royal Ballet Academy, Italy the Cecchetti school, Russian the Vaganova, and so on. For Denmark, which also has a significant prestige in the art form, August Bournonville (1805-1879) created a unique style when he entered the post of choreographer for the Royal Danish Ballet in 1830 - a post he retained for 18 years. He had trained with his father, himself a celebrated dancer, before becoming a soloist for the Royal Danish Ballet in Copenhagen; and the Italian choreographer Vincenzo Galeotti as well as the French dancer Auguste Vestris, influenced him to lead to his creation of a style entirely his own. This became the Bournonville style, and it became the official style of the Royal Danish Ballet while he was choreographer there.
Perfect proportions, grace & elegance: Erik Bruhn had all the qualities that made him the danseur noble par excellence.
The Bournonville style is characterized by a focus on grace, poise and elegance in movement, as opposed to the more bravura style of the Italian and Russian schools. When Erik Bruhn started his training at nine years old, this style was fully developed. This style is strikingly observable in his dancing.
Like Bournonville, Erik Bruhn was born in Copenhagen, Denmark, more than a century after the famous choreographer. His first role was that of Adonis in Harald Lander's ballet Thorvaldsen - a relevant debut, since he would throughout his career be remembered for the perfection of his lines, the grace of his movements, and his handsome physique. At 18 he entered the Royal Danish Ballet as a professional dancer; but the following years saw him leave it to gain some experience abroad, on two occasions: the first was to join the Metropolitan Ballet in England, where he formed his first famous partnership, with ballerina Sonia Arova, and the second was to dance for the American Ballet Theatre in New York City, with which he performed regularly. During those years however his home remained the Royal Danish Ballet. That period saw him form many famous partnerships, which was one of the features of his work as a dancer; indeed he has expressed in an interview how it was important to him to change his approach to the ballet to fit each of his different partners, so that it would emphasize her own special qualities. Bruhn's breakthrough came in 1955 when he performed the role of Albrecht in a production of Giselle, opposite Dame Alicia Markova, with the American Ballet Theatre, inspiring these words of P.W. Manchester in the magazine Dance News:
"Technically exacting as it is, the role of Albrecht is not beyond the capabilities of any competent premier danseur, and Erik Bruhn is infinitely more than that; he is probably the most completely equipped male dancer of the day, with the flawlessly clean technique that comes only through a combination of enormous talent allied to correct day-by-day training from childhood... If his dancing was magnificent, and it was, his partnering of and playing to Markova were no less so. The result was one of those electrifying performances when everyone both in the audience and on the stage is aware that something extraordinary is happening."
And dance critic John Martin of The New York Times declared no less enthusiastically: "a date to write down in the history books, for it was as if the greatest Giselle of today were handing over a sacred trust to what is probably the greatest Albrecht of tomorrow."
And on his return to the American Ballet Theatre here's how he was received by the Time magazine:
"Back home Bruhn, 32, is the idol of the Royal Danish Ballet, where he has brought new life to the classic roles reserved for a premier danseur noble. His technical credentials include a fine dramatic sense and an ability to leap with a high-arching grace, to turn with cat quickness and fluidity on the ground or in midair, to project emotion with vivid movements of arms, legs and body. But Bruhn long ago became aware that "technique is not enough," and he is remarkable for the feeling of tension he can convey by his mere presence. Poised and trim (5 ft. 7 in., 140 lbs.), he somehow rivets an audience with the promise of action before he has danced a step... As Bruhn soars ever closer to his apogee, he spends restless nights reviewing roles in his mind. He has surprisingly little of the vanity that goads most performers; he does not want audiences to pay, he says, "only to see me jump." Furthermore, he would rather "be bad in a good ballet than be great in a bad ballet." But to be great in a good ballet? To do it, says Erik Bruhn, "it is important, even if you performed a role the night before, to think, 'This is the first time this is going to happen.'"
And we need perhaps only one last testimony, to complete this sterling portrait of the Danish danseur and why he was and still is such an outstanding figure in the archives of ballet; that one from dance critic Anna Kisselgoff in The New York Times:
"He was, then, the model of perfection as a dancer – precise in every step, beautifully placed, a virtuoso technician, noble in bearing, elegant in every gesture. His line was extraordinary, his leg beats – a legacy of his Danish training – amazing. He was one of the few dancers who could bring the house down simply by executing a series of entrechats as James in La Sylphide. The steps, no matter how brilliantly executed, were always part of a deeper concept, part of a characterization. Erik Bruhn was a complete dancer – a far cry from the highly specialized artist he was often made out to be... His moral example to the rest of ballet came through the concentration and seriousness with which he committed himself to every role."
There was one factor in Bruhn's life which complicated his sway over the international stage, although in no way diminished it. In 1961 a young dancer from Russia defected to the West. His name was Rudolf Nureyev, and he was a great admirer of the older, more seasoned, already famous artist. His technique was radically different from Bruhn's, yet his somewhat irreverential bravura style electrified audiences even more than the grace, elegance, and nobility of Bruhn's style had done. There was great love and some jealousy between the two giant stage personalities. They became partners and rivals. There is evidence that Bruhn lost some confidence in his own value as a performer before Nureyev's rapidly growing success. One look at but a few minutes of footage from each of the dancers reveals their striking differences, and the way in which they both charmed and captivated an audience, differences which become all the more striking when seen on a live stage. Nureyev was the wild and fascinating creature of fire, who ignited the stage, and leapt and twirled as a flaming spirit before his captivated audience, hypnotizing in his passion and dynamic energy; Bruhn was the noble, perfect form of the Greek statue come to life on a stage, and setting its quiet ascendant upon audiences without even trying, with the perfect image of man in motion, in his beauty and harmony. Before such a contrast, it is hard to imagine that the stage had room so long for both.
Erik Bruhn in three different roles, revealing his versatility, from top to bottom: as Siegfried in Swan Lake, as Albrecht in Giselle, and in a character role as Dr Coppelius in Coppelia.
And yet it did. If Bruhn's name is less remembered today than Nureyev's, it is a result not only of public taste, which is always decisive upon these matters, but of the times and circumstances in which they lived and created their careers, their personalities, their fates. Erik Bruhn was a reserved nature and a loner, who never truly bonded with any professional colleagues or formed notable friendships. It is perhaps a corollary to his personality as an artist, which kept him at a distance from his peers, that he was thus also in life. And perhaps as he himself would have wished, his legacy remains intact, untouched, and immaculate, just as his image on stage, which has remained, and will remain as a standard of perfection for male ballet dancers to reach for. Now in conclusion to this blog I wish to go deeper into what makes Erik Bruhn so unique among the dancers of his generation, and those before and after, since it is after all the subject of this post.
I believe to realize for oneself the exceptional nature of Bruhn's performances the only way of doing it is simply to watch one - and there's plenty of available footage on Youtube and other platforms out there. Still, I'll attempt to define what, in the eyes of audiences of his time and still today, justifies him as a unique figure in the history of male ballet dancing.
To begin with, his proportions were perfect. Pictures of the time show him as the perfect danseur noble in every aspect. But a perfect physique is hardly the guarantee of an exceptional career, or an exceptional dancer. There are so many factors entering into account when considering what makes a dancer outstanding, or even, in the first stages, passable, that it is impossible to judge of the perfection of a performing artist simply through his technique and physique. Erik Bruhn, according to contemporary standards, did not have so much a flawless technique, as something else, less easy to explain away. His stage presence was poised and noble. His dancing had feeling and drama, without exhibiting the fire & passion which his rival Nureyev so stunningly displayed. His performances were imbued with a special kind of charm which characterizes the danseur noble par excellence, the soloist who instead of being given the side roles in a ballet, is always given the role of Siegfried in Swan Lake or of Romeo in Romeo & Juliet.
Erik Bruhn was also much in demand as a teacher: a picture of him teaching three artists of the National Ballet his version of Swan Lake.
But Erik Bruhn was not only a danseur noble. He was also a versatile artist who took on, successfully, a lot of character roles in the latter part of his career. This allowed him to display other skills than being the graceful and admired hero of the stage, a role at which he had throughout his early career excelled: it allowed his comedian side to shine forth, which, in spite of his physical advantage for the hero roles, revealed itself to be equally compelling. This, in my opinion, is what makes a true artist: a true artist is able to involve passion, discipline, and interest in every role, to go out of his way to make it exceptional, to steal the stage with a compelling presence whether in the costume of a Siegfried or the garb of a Dr Coppelius.
In 1963 Erik Bruhn was made a Knight of the Order of the Dannebrog, one of the highest honours to be bestowed upon a Dane, the same year as he was awarded the Nijinsky Prize in Paris. But the highest honour is the memory he has left in the minds & hearts of his audiences around the world, and of all those with whom he has shared the stage.
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